


A Brother's Ride

by Quarkitty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Cannibalism, Character Death, Gore, Incest, M/M, Mutilation, Pony Play, butt stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkitty/pseuds/Quarkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble for tender-vittles on this lovely week we call RAMSAY WEEK. Domeric meets with his bastard brother and decides to have a little fun with him. Ramsay enjoys the fawning attention, but not the position of his knees on the hard ground, and not the derision of being a bottom boy. Ah, brotherly love. So sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brother's Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tendervittles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tendervittles/gifts).



A Brother’s Ride

Ramsay bit hard on the metal bit in his mouth, teeth bared in anger. If anyone saw him like this, demoted to a common workhorse, he would have their fingers worn as jewelry. He grunted, ashamed at the sound escaping his mouth. Hearing a quiet snicker behind him, he felt his body tense up. _Don’t enjoy this too much, brother._

“When Father – ah – when my Lord Father told me I had a brother – ah one moment.” Domeric bit his lip and sighed, resting his hips for a moment. He grabbed his half-brother by the waist and pulled out of his ass slightly. Ramsay readjusted himself on his elbows. They hid behind the stables, the air was dark and thick enough to shroud even a kohl black raven. Domeric wiped the emerging drool from the corner of his mouth on the back of his hand, easing his breaths. “When Father told me of you, I knew I had to find you.” He ran a veiny hand through Ramsay’s long black locks, catching his ring finger on a knot. “Together, we can be something great that we could not be apart.”

Curling his lips into a grimace, Ramsay glared at the young man behind him, his cock still half in his ass. Domeric was sinewy and small, lanky limbs and large eyes that gave off the impression of a care-free youth. When he laughed, he closed them, and Ramsay hated himself for noticing how long his eyelashes were, how they touched his pale pink cheeks. Such perfect skin, smooth and marble white, lined with blue veins and some leftover purple bruises from rough play.

“My Lord Father told me about your mother, you know,” Domeric smiled, his canine teeth a tad too big for his mouth, overlapping his wide lips. “I believe the word supple was used.” He pushed forward into Ramsay, arching his thin back and smiling at the moon. “Said he couldn’t control himself.” Ramsay bit harder on the steel bit, eyebrows furrowing. He harbored no love for his mother, this much was true, but Domeric’s voice was too sweet and casual to speak of her. Lilting his words like a song, he kept on with the rhythm with his hips. “What a lass she must have been to break Lord Roose Bolton.”

Ramsay dug his elbows further into the dirt and hay below him. Somewhere in the stables a horse whinnied and Domeric chuckled at the juxtaposition of imagery. He placed a hand behind Ramsay’s ear and gave it a quick tug. “Do you have her hair? Her eyes? Her ass?” He thought he was funny, too cock sure and sassy for his own good. The word on Domeric Bolton was that he was a quiet young man, with a nose for books and a rider’s body, small and compact. Perhaps he hid his sadism in his studies and kept his laughter for horse riding, but in closed quarters he was something of a honeyed eyed brat with more book smarts than common sense.

If he had any sense, Ramsay thought, his head bowed down, naked ass in his brother’s cupped hands, he would know that any lineage of Roose’s would not take kindly to being treated as a beast of burden. But Ramsay was willing to play along for now, half because he enjoyed the feeling of being ripped in two, half because he wanted to see how much his brother trusted him. Simple things trust simply, and Domeric already put too much stock into a stranger.

When Domeric came, his whole body shuddered from his toes to his ears. A timid moan trembled in the air between them as Domeric pulled out of Ramsay, his lungs puffing hard. He ran a hand through Ramsay’s hair again, petting him like a stallion. “Perhaps,” he whispered behind his ear, gently biting Ramsay’s lobe, “one day you can call yourself a Bolton too, sweet brother.” He laid a kiss on Ramsay’s neck. Domeric barely had time for his lips to leave the skin before Ramsay’s head knocked into his like a great war horse. Tumbling forward into the hay, Domeric lost his balance. Ramsay tore the metal bit out of his mouth and slammed a fist against the side of Domeric’s head, the metal striking his temple. It only took a few tries, each growing more powerful with the sound of Domeric’s screams, before he knocked his brother out cold.

Ramsay stood naked in the autumn night, his body heaving with the aftermath of lust and anger. Such a sweet fool. It would be a joy to kill him bloody, rip his legs from his torso and swing them. But that skin, the young supple flesh was what enticed Ramsay. It had to be preserved. Rummaging through his discarded clothes, Ramsay pulled out a sharpened flaying knife. Testing the sharpness, he tore out of a piece of his hair and ran the strand against the blade. It cut neatly in two without much pressure, falling to the ground in darkness, blending in with the black dirt beneath him.

Pressing his tongue into Domeric’s half opened, unconscious mouth, Ramsay left a trail of spit between the two. “Brother, only a Bolton would want your skin for a saddle.” He picked up one of Domeric’s long arms and cut into it, like peeling a soft fruit. The blood ran thick, beautiful as a bird’s song. He exposed the muscle, marveling at the colors hidden deep inside of his brother. Red on white and white on _red and red and red forever._ He kissed the forearm, taking in the oddly slimy texture of Domeric’s flayed arm, swishing around blood in his mouth. With a smile, he tore away a hunk of muscle in his mouth and swallowed it whole. Back to flaying, he worked steadily, often stopping to admire the beautiful corpse before him. Ramsay could not tell when it was exactly Domeric died, the blood loss was extreme, wetting his specimen in sticky gum. Working the flaying knife between Domeric’s toes, Ramsay tutted to himself on how much of a waste it was not to hear the pretty thing scream a little bit more.

***

                Digging his heels into his horse Blood, Ramsay rode towards Winterfell, his long hair blowing in the fast wind. He grinded his hips against the new leather saddle, running a thumb across its texture. Domeric’s skin felt stiff below him, but he was sure he would break the sweet boy in soon enough.


End file.
